First Aid for Fairies and Other Fabled Beasts (2 page)

She held a sterile pad over the wound and wrapped a soft white bandage round it, winding upwards from his hoof. Then, she fastened everything neatly and securely with wide sticky tape. She stood up and looked at her handiwork. She was fairly sure it wouldn’t unravel or slip off.

“How does that feel?”

“It feels strong. I thank you. May I have those teeth?”

“May I have your story? Just for my records.” She picked up her notebook. “All vets keep records.”

Yann shied away from the small lined book, his horse’s hooves clattering backwards on the floor and his boy’s fists clenching.

“You must not write any record of my visit! Written words are very powerful. What have you written in there?”

“Keep your voice down!”

He repeated, more quietly but just as urgently, “What have you written, healer’s child?”

“Just your name, Yann, and your injury — cut to back right leg. Nothing else.”

“Destroy the page.”

“Why?”

“Tear it out and burn it. There could be such trouble if anyone knows.”

“If anyone knows what?”

“That I have been here. Why I have been here.”

“Okay. You want me to destroy this page, and you want me to give you these teeth. And I want your story. Which I will not write down, I promise.”

Yann shook his head. “It is not my story. It is a secret and it is not my secret. I have promised not to tell.”

“You promised to grant my wish.”

“Are you sure you don’t want a puppy, or a kitten, or a sparkly dress, or a pumpkin coach to a handsome prince’s palace?” Yann grinned, and so did Helen.

“No, I just want an answer to my question.”

“That’s all? An answer. So easy to ask for.”

He scowled again, but not at her. Perhaps he was thinking.

“I cannot break my promise. But I can ask to be freed from it. If you will destroy that page now, before my eyes, I will come back tomorrow, to tell you what I can. And tomorrow you can give me the teeth.”

So Helen ripped out the page, lit a match from her Mum’s odds and ends drawer and burnt it to ash. Then she hauled on the big sliding door to let Yann out. He didn’t move.

“Take the teeth out of your pocket, healer’s child. It is not a safe place to keep them, so near to your skin.”

She moved her hand to her pocket, then hesitated, wondering if it was a trick. Was he going to grab the teeth, and break his promise?

Yann snorted. “Wait until I have gone, if you don’t trust me. But keep them hidden at least an arm’s length from you or any other breathing creature. Not in a pocket, nor a bed, nor anywhere you keep food.”

“Are the teeth poisonous? Have you been poisoned? Your leg isn’t swollen.”

“No, but they are the teeth of a creature controlled by evil, and it is not wise to keep evil close. I will take them to a safe place tomorrow. Look for me when the sun goes down.”

He was hardly limping as he left the surgery. He trotted across the garden, jumped smoothly over the fence and cantered into the darkness of the field and the hills beyond.

Helen didn’t hear the rustling in the bushes as the creature hidden there wriggled, trying to decide whether to follow the boy or watch the girl.

She turned back into the surgery, and took the teeth out of her pocket. She put them on the work surface. Not too near her.

She cleared all the rubbish away, sprayed
disinfectant
and tidied the shelves so there were no gaps where she’d removed supplies. Then she dropped the teeth into an empty swab packet, folded the top over, and left the surgery.

She pulled the door gently behind her, and let herself quietly back into the house. She looked around the hall for a hiding place, and decided to slip the packet into the toe of a black welly that was too small for her and too big for her sister. Then she washed her hands thoroughly.

She said goodnight to her Dad in the study and to her Mum in the bath, and blew a kiss to her little sister in the nursery. Then she went to bed.

Just before she fell asleep, she realized that the boy had never even asked her name. And she didn’t think he’d said “please” once either. If he didn’t come back, she wouldn’t mind one bit.

Helen woke up before her alarm the next morning. She had a whole winter’s day to get through before Yann came back to tell her his story.

She tiptoed downstairs before anyone else was awake, and rattled the welly in the hall. The packet of teeth was still there. Then she crept into the small animal surgery, where her Mum examined dogs and cats on a black rubber-topped table. The small room was crowded with leather chairs, a dark wooden desk, and glass-fronted shelves that held her Mum’s university books.

Helen started running her finger along the shelves of veterinary reference books. She should have done this last night, before she stitched up that leg. She checked the index of the heaviest book, but couldn’t find any mention of
eleven-year
-old girls stitching centaurs’ legs.

So instead she looked through an old book called
First Aid for Ponies and Horses
, which had been her Mum’s when she was a girl. Her fingers flicked past teeth, hooves and colic, until she reached the chapter on wounds. She found some drawings of a leg wound being treated. The stitches were much neater than her stitches had been, but the skin was held together in the same
way. And her modern bandage and tape were much tidier and less bulky than that in the book.

The chapter ended with how to care for a wound as it healed: letting it air, changing dressings and keeping an eye out for swelling or infection. Helen grimaced at a faded photo of a pus-covered leg. She’d better check the wound tonight … if Yann did keep his promise and come back.

Everyone else was getting up now, so she went back to her room, dressed in her school pinafore and blouse, and went downstairs for breakfast. She was halfway down the stairs when she heard a clip clop, clip clop coming from the kitchen and a little voice called out, “Horsie, look, horsie!”

Helen couldn’t believe that Yann would return in daylight, and actually come into the house. But then she couldn’t quite believe he’d appeared last night either.

She jumped down the last six steps, whirled herself round the bottom banister, and sprinted towards the sound of the hooves.

She spun on her toes, looking round the warm untidy kitchen. She saw the huge wooden table in the middle of the room, the piles of newspapers and empty jam jars in the corners, and the heaps of dishes and books on the blue and yellow units.

And she saw her little sister sitting in her high chair, banging two empty yoghurt pots together.
Clip clop, clip clop
. “Horsie, Hen, horsie!”

“What’s the rush, speedy?” Dad asked Helen, as she sat down hard on her chair.

“I thought there was a horse in here!” She laughed a bit shakily.

“I
am
a horsie!” said Nicola.

“She is a horsie,” agreed Dad. “We’ll put on her reins and walk you to school if you hurry up with your breakfast.”

Then Mum stamped in. “Who’s been in my large animal surgery this morning? It’s an absolute mess!”

Helen thought of her quick tidy up last night. She didn’t think she’d left the surgery in a mess, but then Mum and Helen often disagreed about what a tidy bedroom looked like, so she supposed it could be her fault.

She couldn’t possibly admit what she had been doing in there, so she was trying to think of a plausible story when Nicola yelled, “I’m a horsie, clip clop!”

“Oh Nicola. Were you being a horsie in the horse surgery?”

“Clip clop.”

Helen’s Mum assumed that was a “yes,” so she turned to Dad and said, “Alasdair, you really must keep an eye on her when I’m in the shower. She’s wrecked the place, and there are lots of
dangerous
blades and needles that she could cut herself on.”

“Can I help you un-wreck the place?” Helen offered, hoping to find out what her Mum thought was tidy, so that she could cover her traces if she needed to use the surgery again tonight.

“Do you have time before you go to school?”

“Yes, if Nicola will canter all the way up the lane.”

“Well, thank you. That would be a help.”

Helen followed her Mum out of the house and towards the surgery. She stopped in surprise at the sliding door.

This was not anyone’s idea of tidy.

All the drawers were open, with their plastic and metal contents dragged out. Boxes on the shelves had been knocked over, spilling gloves and thread everywhere. The yellow bags for clinical waste had been tipped out of the bins, so there were heaps of swabs and syringes and animal hair on the floor. And the filing cabinet had been emptied, so brown folders and white paper were scattered on top of everything else.

“It wasn’t like this last night!” Helen blurted out.

“Last night?” her Mum asked, giving her a funny look.

“When I came to get you after Mr MacDonald called about his sheep. It wasn’t like this then.” Helen tried to sound convincing.

“No, I don’t usually make this much mess when I’m working. How do you think Nicola got up to the top shelves?”

“Climbed on the drawers, maybe? She thought she was a monkey last week, so she got a lot of climbing practice.”

Helen felt a bit guilty about letting her sister take the blame, when she suspected that this chaos wasn’t the work of a toddler.

“You aren’t annoyed with Nicola, are you?” she asked, sliding the folders back in the filing cabinet.

“No, she’s only wee, and toddlers get into
everything
. It’s my fault for leaving the door open, I’ve
known for weeks it doesn’t shut securely any more. You have to bang it about twenty times before it clicks and locks. I’ll get it fixed as soon as I get a minute. Are you putting those in order?”

“MNOPQR …” Helen muttered. “I hope so.”

Wearing thick protective gloves, her Mum was putting waste to be incinerated into a yellow bag. She looked a bit puzzled at the large pile of bloody swabs, so Helen tried to distract her.

“Do Harry MacDonald and his sheep go before or after Hector McDonald and his organic goats? How do you separate the Macs, the Mcs and the Ms?” Her Mum sighed and came over to show her.

Helen trotted with her Dad and Nicola along the lane towards Clovenshaws Primary School. The Eildon hills appeared, as icy clouds of vapour above the River Tweed floated up in the mild winter sun, revealing the fields carved into the land by walls and fences.

She knew the Scottish Borders had been trampled and crushed by many armies in years gone by, but as she looked at the pale green land around her, she wondered what destructive forces had marched across the land last night, through their garden and into her mother’s surgery.

Who had wrecked it? And why? Had they been looking for something Yann had left behind? Or the notes he had forced her to destroy? Or the teeth she had insisted on keeping?

She had some real questions for Yann now, rather than just curiosity and a wish for an interesting story. If he was bringing danger
behind him, then perhaps she should just change his dressing tonight, and say, “Goodbye and don’t come back.”

Or maybe she should hear his story first.

She spent many quiet moments at school wondering what that story would be. What tale could involve high walls, sharp teeth, and boys with horses’ legs? What could explain someone, or something, searching her Mum’s surgery in the middle of the night?

At lunchtime, sitting on the benches near the infant playground, she and her best friend, Kirsty, were waving at Kirsty’s littlest sister, who was a very small and very nervous Primary One. Kirsty was describing a TV programme about a gang of children outwitting an evil genius, but Helen was only half listening to her best friend’s tale of chases and mysteries. She was hugging her knees to her chest, watching the little ones playing running games, and thinking about her own real life mystery.

“Are you going to watch it tonight, Helen?” Kirsty asked. “It’s really good!”

“I might. Or I might have something more exciting to do.”

“Nothing is more exciting than a good story!”

Helen smiled and agreed.

Helen stayed at school for an hour after the bell went, rehearsing yet again for the school’s Christmas Eve concert in the gym hall. She played the fiddle with the rest of the school’s small orchestra, but she was also going to perform a solo. As they rehearsed the Sugar Plum Fairy’s
dance for the last time, she watched the sky get a little darker and realized that the sun was setting. She had to get home.

Helen already had her violin in its case and was following Kirsty out of the door when the music teacher said, “Helen, can you stay for a couple of minutes, so we can work on your solo before it gets too dark?”

“I’m sorry, Mr Crombie, I can’t. I have to go right now.”

As the rest of the pupils clattered their instruments away, Mr Crombie spoke quietly so only Helen could hear. “I know doing a solo is a bit stressful, especially when I’ve invited the director of the summer school you want to go to next year to come and hear you play. This is your chance to impress her.

“But an audition isn’t a magic trick, Helen. You don’t have to pull a surprise out of a hat at the very last minute. You can play a piece we all know. It doesn’t have to be original or unusual.

“Look, I can’t help you perform at your best if I don’t know what you’re playing. Do you know yourself yet? Would you rather wait a year or so, and see what summer schools are available when you are older? I could cancel the director.”

“No!” Helen tried to sound calm and confident. “Please don’t do that. I am ready to do this now. I’ll have the perfect piece of music ready in plenty of time.”

Mr Crombie smiled. “I’m delighted to hear that. And if you do have a piece selected and rehearsed, then I look forward to hearing it at the next rehearsal.”

Helen dashed out of school and across the
playground
, not sure if she was more annoyed with Mr Crombie for doubting that she could find and learn a simple piece of music in a couple of days, or with herself for not having done it yet. There were plenty of tunes she could play, she just wanted to play one that was absolutely perfect for her and her violin. But what if that perfect piece of music didn’t exist?

She jogged along the narrow road in the growing dark, going as fast as she could with a violin case, a school bag and a lunch box.

When Yann had said “look for me when the sun goes down,” had he meant this early? Just when the sun was setting? Or much later, when it was pitch black? And where would he be? In the garden? In the lane? Surely not in the surgery?

She sprinted through the gate, and searched the greying garden. It was empty, except for rustling bushes and shifting branches. She went in the back door, dumped her bags in the middle of the kitchen floor and shouted, “Hello, I’m home!”

There was no answer. The house was very quiet.

She went into the hall. The computer room light was on, and the door was closed. So Dad was working. The living room light was on, and the door was open. She heard her Mum reading a book about baby animals to Nicola.

“I’m home!” she yelled. She ran upstairs, changed out of her school clothes and rushed back into the garden for another look.

A huge two-headed shape leapt over the back fence straight at her.